Sleep, My Dear Watson
by HLJ137
Summary: Joan succeeds in adopting a baby, but as a new mother to an infant, she's totally exhausted. Sherlock sees how worn out she is, so he steps in to take care of the baby so Joan can get some rest. Platonic domestic Joanlock fluff. (Those of you who have read my other fic "Uncle Sherlock?" could consider this a kind of prequel, but you don't have to read that one to read this)


The muffled sound of crying started to push it's way into Joan's consciousness. She groaned, rubbing her eyes to get her bearings. She realized with a start that she had fallen asleep on the sofa downstairs. When had that happened? Blearily, she shook her head. The last she thing remembered was working on a case with Sherlock... She must have fallen asleep while they were working.

The sound came again. This time, she recognized it. The baby was crying again, the sound repeated through the monitor she kept downstairs with her. That must have been what woke her up in the first place.

With an effort and another groan, Joan forced herself up off the sofa. She scrubbed her eyes furiously and blinked, trying to banish the bleariness of sleep from her vision. Wearily, she made her way up the stairs to the baby's crib in her bedroom.

When she got upstairs, she picked up the infant from his crib, cuddling him and making cooing sounds until his cries died down to little hiccups. Joan hoped he would go right back to sleep, but her hope was in vain. He was awake. She sat down in the rocking chair for a moment, determined to rock her new son back to sleep. She felt her own eyes drooping closed and jolted back awake. The baby, however, showed no signs of sleep. _It's too dark in here,_ Joan thought. _I'm going to fall asleep again before he does_. Resigned to staying up awhile longer, Joan hoisted the baby up and made her way back downstairs in search of some tea or coffee to keep her up.

She tried to maneuver a pot onto the stove with one hand, but in her tired state she only managed to bump another pot off the counter, causing a crash that rang throughout the brownstone. The baby wailed again. Joan winced and sighed. She was exhausted.

So thorough was her exhaustion that she never heard the footsteps behind her as Sherlock came into the kitchen.

"Watson?" He called from the doorway. Joan jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice. Seeing her jump, Sherlock softened his voice. "Sorry," he said. "Is everything alright? I heard a crash from the other room."

"Oh," Joan mumbled. "Yeah, I'm fine. We're fine. I was just, um..." she rubbed her eyes with her free hand, trying to clear the cobwebs from her brain. "I was gonna make some tea." Then, gesturing to the infant in her arms, she added, "I guess I fell asleep, but he woke up, so I did too."

From his place in the doorway, Sherlock observed her. She was, without a doubt, a devoted mother, but she was entirely exhausted. He could see the signs of her weariness etched in the lines on her face and the posture of her stance.

"You did," he said, a little louder so he could be heard over the still-crying child. "Fall asleep, I mean. We were in the middle of a discussion about the possibilities that our killer was professionally trained when you fell silent. I looked over and you were unconscious on the sofa."

All Joan could think to say was "oh. Sorry."

Sherlock shrugged. "No matter. You needed the rest. You still do. But," he pointed at the bundle in her arms, "your little one seems dead-set against that."

Joan sighed, stifling a yawn. "Yeah, babies do that."

"Indeed." Sherlock said, walking closer to her. When he approached her, he examined the faraway look in her eyes. She was so tired that she couldn't even focus them properly. She had barely gotten any sleep in the last three weeks since the little boy had joined them. She wouldn't be any good to him, herself, or the baby in this state.

Impulsively, Sherlock decided to help out. He gestured to the baby. "Let me take him, Watson," he urged. Joan looked up at him in surprise. She made a little surprised sound and started to protest but he cut her off. "You need to rest. Anyone could see that. Let me take him for a little while. You go upstairs and get some sleep."

Joan eyed him warily. "You haven't slept much more than I have recently," she said, the skepticism clear in her voice.

He shrugged again. "I am accustomed to far less sleep than you are, and I have gotten a few more hours than you at least."

Joan was still hesitant. She had promised Sherlock that the baby would be solely her responsibility, and that meant staying up with him all night every night if she had to. She didn't want Sherlock to have to start shouldering any parental responsibilities.

But, she had to admit, a few hours of sleep without having to worry about the baby sounded too good to pass up.

Sherlock saw her eyes start to soften. He knew she was about to give in, so he added, "I think you would be surprised at my ability to take care of infants, Watson."

Joan smiled. "Alright," she sighed, resigned. Sherlock gestured to the baby, and she gently put the bundle into his waiting arms. But as soon as she let go, she started worrying again. Call it a mother's instinct. "Be careful with him," she gasped, unable to take her hand off Sherlock's arm. "Make sure you support his head..."

"Watson, stop worrying," Sherlock said soothingly. "I know how to properly hold him. We will be fine." He gave her a pointed look, noting the lines of worry still crossing her face. He nodded his head toward the other room. "Come on, let's go sit down," he said quietly.

Joan reluctantly followed him into the other room and sat next to him on the sofa. She was unable to keep herself too far away from the baby. She moved closer to Sherlock and craned her neck over his lap so she could see the baby's face as it lay in his arms.

With her face so close to his, Sherlock could read her every expression. He could tell she still wasn't entirely comfortable with leaving the baby to him. He too looked down at the infant, who was still crying a little. He gently rocked the bundle back in forth in his arms, whispering "it's okay little man, no need to cry, you're safe here with us." Soon, the baby's cries turned to little gasps, then subsided as he was rocked back and forth

As Sherlock kept watching the baby, Joan turned her head to watch him. He'd gotten the baby to stop crying. She'd never imagined Sherlock of all people would be good with babies. As he kept murmuring to the infant, a small smile crept across Joan's face.

Sherlock became aware of her watching him. He looked back up to meet her eyes and noticed she was grinning at him. Quietly he asked, "what?"

Joan shook her head. "Nothing," she whispered. "I just never thought you'd be the sort of person to cuddle a crying baby till he stopped."

Sherlock returned her grin. "Yes, well," he said. "If it's all the same to you, let's not tell anyone at the precinct about this. I wouldn't want them to think I'm going soft."

Joan snorted quietly, nudging his shoulder with hers. "You're softer than you think," she laughed in a whisper. Sherlock smirked at her, but his smirk soon gave way to a grin as his gaze returned to the baby whose eyes were starting to close. Even quieter now, Joan whispered, "I think he's going back to sleep. Do you want me to take him back to his crib?"

Sherlock shook his head lightly. "No, that's alright. He looks to be quite comfortable right here."

Joan smiled but said nothing. Her head was getting heavy with lack of sleep, so without a thought she dropped it onto Sherlock's shoulder, letting her eyes drift closed again.

Sherlock glanced down to where her head lay on him. He smiled a private, happy smile that he reserved only for her, for quiet moments like this. After a moment, he nudged his shoulder, waking her. "My dear Watson," he whispered, "why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep?"

Joan, still only half-conscious, sighed. "No," she muttered sleepily, "I'm quite comfortable right here." As soon as the words were out of her mouth her eyes closed again.

It wasn't long before her breathing slowed, telling Sherlock she was asleep again. He smiled at them, these two people sleeping against him. He was surprised to find he wasn't at all uncomfortable with his situation, trapped as he was on the couch by the two sleeping forms. Instead, he put his head back to rest on the wall and closed his eyes too, intent on going over the details of their latest case in his mind.

However, it wasn't long before he too succumbed to sleep.


End file.
